


Bad Language

by Su_Whisterfield



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: Words matter.
Relationships: Logan/Kurt Wagner
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Bad Language

“I am _not_ your ‘kitten’,” he lectures me with offended dignity. “I am not anyone’s ‘kitten’. I am not a pet.”  
“Sure, darlin’,” I nod in acquiescence, running my hands down the strong muscles of his thighs. I’m lying on my back and he’s straddling me, my cock nestled very happily in the soft, warm, cleft between his balls and tail. Very happily.  
He scowls down at me, the tail in question, on the bed beside us, twitches in irritation. “And while we’re at it, I am not your ‘lad’ or ‘boy’ either.” He shifts his weight, deliberately resting his full hundred and seventy pounds of muscle and sinew and bone on me. Muscle, sinew and bone all covered in silky fur, of course. Soft, musky, warm, sweet smelling fur.  
Must admit though, he’s right on that one, definitely a man not a boy. For all that I’ve got over a hundred years on him.  
He’s warming up to his subject now. “I am not your ‘darlin’’, not your ‘babe’, not your ‘fuzz-ball’ and, most definitely and positively, not your ‘sleek panther of the night’!” Did I really call him that? Guess so, my mouth tends to get away from me when I’m otherwise occupied.  
“Sorry, sweetheart.” I run my hands against the grain of the fur and feel his cock twitch in response.  
“Sweetheart?” He tilts his head, sighing. “Really, Logan? This is getting ridiculous.”  
I continue stroking the flawless blue velvet, looking up at this magnificent man on top of me. His cock is hardening and I haven’t even touched it yet. “I mean it, it’s demeaning, infantising, ohh.” I roll my hips, he swats my arm. “Stop it. You’re distracting me.” So I distract him some more.

Casual. It’s just a casual bit of stress relief between two consenting adults.  
But we’ve been doing this on and off for years, we know each other, our bodies know each other, trust each other. We’re intimate way beyond just casual, I think that’s a lie we tell ourselves, that I tell myself. Because the truth might be dangerous. Literally dangerous; being my friend pins a target on his back, if some of my enemies knew he was more than that they would use it against me, they would hurt him, hurt him in ways this gentle soul should never be hurt. They would destroy this beauty. Because of me, and that just doesn’t bear thinking about.

We’re a bit of a sticky mess, one disadvantage of the fur. And of him being so damn fastidious, he’ll want to clean up real soon now. He’s lying on me full length, all those beautiful muscles, that lovely musky smell. The mess doesn’t bother me, one little bit, oh no.  
“Mm.”  
I stoke my hand down his long back, kiss the curls on the top of his head.  
“I’m sorry, Elf,” and I am; I know how he hates to be thought of as inhuman, as an animal. I keep stroking. He always has entertaining, funny stories about his time in the circus, but I know, I know that it wasn’t always easy, not always fun. There’s pain there, old hurts. People treating him as an animal. Freak Show. Cages. Chains. He thinks I don’t know. But I do. They hurt my brave, beautiful boy, damaged him very badly. He thinks it didn’t leave any trace but it did, if you know where to look. Not all scars are visible.  
Sudden thought. “Yer okay with ‘Elf’ ain’t ya?”  
“Mmm,” sleepy sound. “Of course, Elf is mine. Ours.”  
Yes, sweetheart, yes, my beautiful night panther, yes it is. It’s just ours.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit more post coital introspection, written while trapped in a cottage in Wales with no Wifi.


End file.
